


red

by reptilianunderwear



Series: ur fave is autistic: haikyuu!! [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Autistic Character, Fluff, M/M, dorks being dorks, just fluff, kenma feels in colors, kenma is autistic, kenma likes counting and lev has no patience, lev is just happy to be included, not a good combo, you can read this as platonic or romantic i dont care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianunderwear/pseuds/reptilianunderwear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma likes to count Lev's knuckles. Lev likes it when Kenma holds his hands. It's a symbiotic relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic pls be gentle
> 
> DISCLAIMER: i am autistic

            Lev is lanky and long and full of sharp angles, and his feet are large and gangly, and his hands can encompass Kenma’s entire face. Kenma, in contrast, is made of soft edges and stubby limbs and his feet are small and his hands are even smaller. They both look rather odd, sprawled in the shade of a tree along the volleyball club’s usual running route. Kenma knows it’s the same tree that they rescued a cat from at the beginning of the season (because it has exactly three main segments, and two forks off of the main ones, and a knot in the very center of the trunk), but he doesn’t think Lev remembers. Not like Kenma does, anyways.

            Lev is on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other thrust directly to the side, towards the tree and towards Kenma. Kenma has Lev’s hand resting on the palm of his left, his right hand carefully pushing down on each knuckle.

            One, two, three…

            Lev shifts his hand, twitching with reflex. Kenma sucks in a breath of air. He feels green (which means frustrated), but only a little bit.

            “Please don’t move,” He says, golden eyes trained on the pale spread of Lev’s hand.

            “Right! Sorry, Kenma-san,” Lev apologizes, a smile peeking out from under his forearm. The green feeling goes away.

            “Kenma,” The setter corrects, starting over counting Lev’s prominent knuckles.

            “Kenma,” Lev repeats, confirming it. Kenma hopes he’ll remember to drop the –san next time.

            One, two, three, four, five…

            “It’s a nice day outside, right?” Lev says. Kenma tenses, losing his train of thought again. Now he has to start over. The green comes back.

            “Can I finish counting and then we can talk?” Kenma asks, as clear as he can without being rude. Kuroo says that he needs to work on being less rude so he can be more approachable. Kenma tells him that he doesn’t want to be approachable, but with Lev, he thinks he might like to be. Just a little bit. Lev nods and stills again, and Kenma makes it all the way to fourteen this time—all the knuckles on his right hand. The counting chases the green away and replaces it with blue (which means calm).

            “Left hand, please,” Kenma requests, remembering the ‘please’. Lev is quiet, as Kenma had asked, and readjusts himself so that his arms switch positions, right arm over his eyes and left laid across his chest so Kenma can access his hand.

            Kenma repeats the process, gently pressing on each knuckle and counting up to fourteen again. Lev doesn’t interrupt this time, and Kenma feels blue still. Not the blue that Yaku sometimes says he looks (which means sad), but blue like the color of the sky or the background of Microsoft word. The color of calm, not the color of sad. Gray is sad. Not the gray of Lev’s hair— the gray of a storm cloud and of a faded tablecloth and of a weathered gravestone. Kenma does not feel gray, not now.

            Kenma pats Lev’s hand to signal that he’s done. Lev bolts upright so fast that he’s practically a blur, and Kenma flinches away from the sudden movement. He’s like a small forest creature—quick, unexpected movements startle him. Not in volleyball, though, definitely not in volleyball. In volleyball, Kenma always knows there will be sudden movements. It takes so much energy from him that he can’t waste any on expecting sudden moves from classmates. It’s an inefficient system, he knows, but there isn’t any other way to do it.

            “Can I do your feet?”

            “My feet?” Lev asks, tilting his head to the side. Kenma looks at him, but not in the eyes. It’s much easier to look at his forehead. He nods, feeling a little yellow (which means nervous), because maybe that wasn’t a thing you were supposed to say, and maybe he made Lev uncomfortable. Kenma tries to think of what Kuroo would tell him, but before he can, Lev laughs. Kenma doesn’t get it, and he can’t tell if it’s a mean laugh or a happy laugh (he never can). But then he’s spared the effort of thinking about it when Lev lets out a “of course!” and the yellow feeling goes away, replaced by red (which means happy, because all of his friends’ uniforms are red, excluding Hinata).

            Lev kicks off his shoes and wiggles his toes at Kenma, whose eyes brighten up and the corners of his mouth tip up in the most display of positive emotion he’s ever shown around Lev. Lev is ecstatic.

            “Please stay still,” Kenma repeats, just so that Lev understands. Lev nods enthusiastically, then settles himself on his back and lays his foot in Kenma’s lap. Kenma takes it gingerly, testing to make sure that it’s not too sweaty or gross or wrong.

            It’s not any of those things. It’s warm, but not smelly. It’s not very sweaty either, which is kind of a surprise, but Kenma doesn’t complain. Instead, he turns his attention downward and begins to count the knuckles of his feet. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Nine knuckles on one foot. Logically, Kenma knows that this means there will be nine knuckles on the other foot, but on the other hand, what if there _aren’t_? He thinks he should check, just in case.

            “Left foot, please,” Kenma requests, quietly, and Lev eagerly complies, switching feet and sitting up in the process. He balances his chin on his fist and watches with a renewed interest as Kenma carefully counts each knuckle on his left foot. Kenma doesn’t feel the eyes on him until he finishes, patting the foot in his hand to signal he’s done. Lev takes that as permission to speak.

            “You’re so weird, Kenma-sa—Kenma,” Lev says, pulling his feet away and folding his legs into his chest, eyes crinkling up at the corners. The way he catches himself using honorifics and corrects it makes Kenma feel red again. He likes feeling red. He thinks Lev might be feeling red, too, but he doesn’t think Lev will call it that. Kuroo says that most people don’t feel in colors.     

            But Lev does feel red. Not the same way that Kenma feels red, but he feels it, and he sees it in Kenma. Kenma, who hardly ever smiles. Kenma, who hardly ever clearly shows when he’s happy. Kenma, who is radiating Nekoma red from the sliver of pearly whites he shows when he smiles for real.

            Lev thinks that red is his new favorite color.

                  

                 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you all know that this started as kuroken but then lev forced his way in like the needy asshole he is


End file.
